Alex

Rebuild

A machine behind me hummed to life, filling the silence with an unsettling mechanical whirr. I clenched my fists as fire surged through my body, lighting up every nerve, every circuit, as the microprocessors powered up. My muscles twitched uncontrollably, knitting themselves back together with agonizing precision, each fiber reconnecting like the strokes of a master artisan.

I flexed my fingers, my body trying to regain its autonomy despite the restraints holding me down. Died. The word kept echoing in my head. I had died. But how? Why had I been on that roof? The memories were lost, buried deep beneath the layers of new flesh, circuits, and confusion.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the rhythmic contractions of my muscles, counting them like a meditation. It was the only way to keep my mind from spiraling. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sterile, metallic scent of the room, the constant hum of machinery, and the dread that had begun creeping into the back of my mind.

Night had fallen. The once-bright room now bathed in a soft, faint glow emanating from beneath the baseboards. Voices murmured beyond the door, just out of reach, like distant echoes in a cave. Then came the knock—a soft, deliberate rapping—and the door creaked open.

"I'm only here to check your progress. I won't be long," Dr. Meyers' voice floated toward me as he entered. He glanced at the electronic chart hanging at the foot of my bed. "Excellent. At this rate, you'll be completely healed by tomorrow afternoon. Well ahead of schedule." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "How are you feeling, Alex?"

"I feel... fine," I replied, though the word felt foreign on my tongue. "The spasms are strange, but manageable."

"Good. Rest up. Tomorrow is a big day," he said, placing the chart back before leaving the room.

The beeping of the IV pump broke the silence, signaling that the bag was empty. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling just as drained.

Died. The thought held me captive. What did it mean to be alive again, after death? What was I now?

The nurse entered quietly in the early morning, startled when she noticed I was awake. She quickly silenced the IV alarm, replaced the bag, and hurried out before I could say a word. Alone again, I focused on my breathing, trying to settle my mind.

It was midday when the robotic voice finally declared, "Muscular rebuild one hundred percent complete."

One hundred percent. Physically, I was whole. But I still felt fragmented, scattered.

Dr. Meyers returned shortly after, looking pleased. "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I asked, cautiously.

"For starters, to get out of that bed," he said, laughing lightly. He pressed a button on a handheld controller, and the restraints around my wrists and ankles retracted into the bed. Tentatively, I flexed my arms and sat up. To my surprise, there was no weakness, no atrophy. My muscles responded effortlessly. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, steady, without even the slightest tremor.

"How is this possible?" I asked, astonished.

"We rebuilt you, Alex," Dr. Meyers said proudly. "The microprocessors and the special proteins have made you stronger than ever before."

He unhooked the IV from my arm, giving me full range of movement. "Follow me to the training center. It's time to test your new limits."

We walked down a long, sterile hallway, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh, flat glow over everything. The silence between us stretched, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, assessing every step, every motion.

Finally, we stopped in front of a large steel door. Dr. Meyers swiped his badge, and the door unlocked with a faint beep. He pushed it open, revealing a massive control room. Monitors lined the walls, and beyond the large picture windows, a darkened room with a neon orange grid spread across the walls and floor.

"What is this place?" I asked, taking in the strange environment.

"This," Dr. Meyers said, his voice filled with pride, "is the training center. A virtual reality chamber where we can assess your progress."

He gestured toward a large chair in the center of the room, cables trailing from it like tendrils. "Please, sit."

I eyed the chair, hesitating, but ultimately sat down.

"I'm going to strap you in for your safety," he said, securing the thick leather restraints around my wrists and ankles once more. "This is for the upload process."

"Upload?" I shot him a questioning look.

"We're going to program you with various skills and abilities," Dr. Meyers explained. "Consider it an enhancement."

"What if I don't want to be programmed?" I asked.

"That would be unfortunate," he said, tightening the last strap before reclining the chair.

The cold leather pressed against my back as the chair lowered. He brushed the hair away from my right ear and inserted a USB cable. The connection sent a jolt through me, and my vision blurred as I heard the hum of the machine behind me.

"Let's start with basic agility functions," Dr. Meyers said from behind the control panel.

The rush of data was overwhelming, my body heating up as the information surged through me. My muscles tensed, my mind racing to keep up with the influx of knowledge and skills that were being downloaded directly into my brain. I gripped the armrests, my fingers digging into the leather as the process continued.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

Dr. Meyers pressed a button and smiled. "Okay, let's see what you've learned."